


Two Steps Forward

by ninaalegre



Category: Empire (TV 2015)
Genre: Drama, Imagining Possibilities, Jamal's POV, Jamichael, Jealous Jamal, M/M, Post-Skye, Quoted Lyrics Belongs to Prince Royce (Perdoname), Rough Sex, car smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 21:20:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6536722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninaalegre/pseuds/ninaalegre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow up to One Night Since: </p><p>Despite everything that's happened between them, Jamal misses Michael so much. He isn't ready to forgive him, yet he can't fight the yearning for his presence and touch. His heart still aches, and there's a serious issue left unchecked, so he cannot let himself slip again. But stars collide, and another fateful night brings them together. Can Jamal hold on to stubborn self-control?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Steps Forward

**Author's Note:**

> After the S2x01 scene which involved Ricardo, I've started to think Jamal is quite possessive of Michael. XD Let's cheer for Jamichael in Season 2B, and hopefully our OTP is happy by Season 3.

 

Cookie Lyon smacked her son's lap, jolting him out of his reverie. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded in the moody twang that was so endearingly hers. "Are you high or somethin'?"

 

"Mom," Jamal sighed, wetting his bottom lip. Refocusing on her, he shifted his long legs that were propped up on the coffee table. He eyed her, a quiet urge to continue where they left off. 

 

She rolled her eyes. "So?" resumed Cookie, her perfectly lined eyebrow raised. When she didn't get the reaction she expected, she tilted her head and opened her arms. "What?"

 

"What _what_?" her son returned. The last thing he heard her saying was that Lyon Dynasty required the PR ball rolling this month. Although Empire was definitely the mother label, Cookie treated Dynasty as a separate precious baby. Jamal didn't have an issue with it, never had, especially after things had gone downhill with the Board. "I've told you, I'd attend the Latino jam on Saturday for Laura."

 

Cookie shook her head, eyes narrowing. "I've been yapping here for ages about your shitty father, and you're not even listening. Is there a problem here I dunno?"

 

Jamal averted her hawk-like scrutiny. "No, Mom. It's just--" Were they talking about Lucious already? He hadn't even noticed the conversation had veered off from the solo mini-album project for Laura. "I'm just thinking about this new song I'm working on. Can't quite fit the lyrics in the bridge."

 

"That's it?" asked Cookie, incredulously.

 

"Yeah," he nodded sheepishly.

 

"Okay," drawled his mother. She inched closer to Jamal on the dark leather couch, catching his jaw in her vibrant, glittery claws. She studied his features before declaring: "You suck. Don't lie to your momma again."

 

"I ain't," Jamal argued, gently pulling away. Technically, he was telling the truth; he did have that bump with his latest composition; it wasn't really what got him distracted presently, though.

 

And the empress sensed it. Of course, she would. The knack for sniffing turmoil with her boys and her cunning sensitivities to familial affairs were some of her best gifts. She wasn't their mother for nothing. Cookie examined her son's profile. Anything about her son's trouble, Cookie would have to know; hence, she went for the shot.

 

"Mal, did another pretty boy break your heart? Again?" 

 

Jamal turned his head fast towards her, brows knitted. "Why d'you think that?"

 

"'Coz I found this crumpled white shirt tucked under your pillo--"

 

"You were checking my bed?" he snapped. His mother said she would use his bathroom for a bit; he couldn't believe she'd nose out his possessions, especially the stuffs in and around his bed. "Mom, my things--"

 

"Uh-uh." Cookie waved a fancy finger at him, telling him off in her own-Cookie way. "You, dumbass. The dirty sleeve was dangling from your covers. I thought I had to sort it." She further scrunched her nose, saying, "and the stupid li'l thing smelling like candy or sugar and some after-party just got my attention. It's not yours, is it? Looks one size down to me."

 

Elbows on his knees, Jamal hung his head. Flatly he asked, "Did you wash it?"

 

"Ain't my job. But I did throw it. You--" she stressed, "you're hopeless holding on to that. Who's guy gotta make you like this? Some bunny ass you met in a club? A sleazy paparazzi?"

 

The queen batted her lashes, waiting. Jamal clenched his jaws and stared at her. A minute passed; he yielded. "It's Michael's."

 

Hot pink lips curled. Cookie huffed. "Oh-- You're really crazy, Diego. Thought he'd cheated you. Dora still visits your house?"

 

Jamal groaned. His mother's way with words were either a blessing or a curse. Not to mention, of all things they should be discussing at the moment...

 

"I don't wanna talk about this right now," he made known.

 

"Honey, I'm gonna give you a nice piece of Cookie advice: move on." Cookie added, "He ain't got it in him to be with you, Mal. Michael's all cupcake and sunshine and totally adorable, but you don't just need a darling cook to survive."

 

Jamal scowled. "He's more than that, Mom," he defended, getting a skeptical look in return.

 

Despite the realistic ring to her mother's statements, Jamal also meant his words. Michael had always been something more to him. Strange though it was that after the break up and all, he still didn't approve of his parents' references to his ex-boyfriend. True: the man broke his heart; even so, Michael was special on his own. He was devoted to his dream, and was humble about his gradual successes. 

 

The two years they'd spent together was a testament to how deep and serious it had been with him, with each other. Perhaps that was why  Michael was still a sensitive topic. Neither Lucious nor Cookie could know him the way Jamal did--at least before the point Jamal got unbelievably betrayed.

 

"It's been proven in the courts; he's a sneaky wide-eyed rabbit," said Cookie.

 

Jamal heaved a deep breath. Cookie stood up, kissed his cheek, her bangles shaking and clinking as she grabbed her silver snakeskin purse from the coffee table.

 

"Just saying you're you, Jamal. You're a Lyon. Go find a boy who can keep up with the drama and pressure."

 

"I gotta say you can't effectively preach about relationships, Mom. You're not quite the role model here," Jamal told her, half-amused, half-irked up. "Lucious is a much worst player."

 

"That's why I hate that douche bag, baby." Cookie smirked then replied over her shoulder before she headed for the door. "Learn. And don't cha ever ditch me on Saturday."

 

"'Course, I won't," Jamal mumbled.

 

When his mother had left, he padded upstairs to his bedroom to secure the damn shirt. Some looking around later, he found it stuffed in the hamper in the bathroom, sitting with his tees from last week. He took it out, staring at the thing as though it was a giant puzzle. The blend lingered--of Michael's sweet perfume, musky sweat, and alcohol traces from that evening. Scenes from that night swirled in on his mind. Jamal languidly rubbed the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. Heat coursed through his body. His heart thumped.

 

Reliving the entire night in his head, he returned to his bed and put the shirt back to where it belonged--under his pillow.

 

Did no one seriously bother with this kind of stuff anymore? Because Jamal still sure did. Perhaps Cookie was right to scoff at his sentimentality; still, he couldn't help it. A mysterious, inexplicable force seemed to stop him every time he considered disposing the shirt off.

 

"God, this is so fucked up," he murmured to himself, head shaking in self-deprecation.

 

Not only had Jamal secretly watched his ex go drunk at Red Light for hours, but he had also taken him home and slept with the guy afterwards. During those blissfully floating moments, he had given in to the powerful thought that had dominated his reason: Michael was his. Nobody else could touch him.

 

It had been three months since then. It was a quarter of dead air between them. Michael had completely stopped reaching out to him. No phone calls, no more pleading SMS. He even seemed to refrain from visiting Red Light and other clubs they used to frequent together.

 

On many occasions--such as when he couldn't sleep during wee hours, or when his melodies carried him away, or when he held Michael's shirt close to his chest in bed--Jamal was on the verge of taking the first step. Surely it was only one tap away to calling, or one stroke to text messaging the person. Alas, he couldn't bring himself to stepped over that line.

 

Pride and bitterness were very bad combination to suffer with.

 

The following days were no different from the recent Jamal lifestyle: hectic yet virtually bland. Bland, in spite of the activities that consumed his energy from dawn to dusk. Jamal made appearances, received critical praises, and composed more music.

 

The fulfillment in his chosen craft was never lost; he cherished every second of it; however, the once discreet void in his core was recently becoming harder and harder to ignore. He could not shake off the feeling that despite the glory of the stage he had yearned for years, he was still incomplete. The concern carried on till Saturday evening.

 

"This is really awesome," crooned Jamal, with a tropical mojito under his nose. "Maybe we should throw outdoor parties like this. Empire style."

 

Endless drinks and food were supplied. Following the early dinner, most guests were chatting and swaying to the slow-dance bacchata in the background. Lads and ladies were swimming and giggling at one another. Audience roamed about, admiring anything wonderful in the residence. At the garden corner, an indie boy band was playing mellow songs. Apart from the fifty enthusiasts invited, around thirty-five industry people--major and minor alike--were gathered tonight. All of them shared the same agenda: to enjoy good music and find budding artists to sponsor and promote to the Latin-American market.

 

"We do that on your next launch. And Empire should hire the same catering service, too. The tamale was fantastic," Cookie remarked. She sipped her fruit punch and grinned at the burst of saccharin flavors. "Now I wish Letizia's house is near the beach."

 

"Her pool is big enough around the stage."

 

"Thank God Laura didn't fall to that pool when she danced earlier."

 

"Give her some credit, Mom. She's doing great among these cool peeps."

 

"She's terrific, but she can be affected when Hakeem is involved," said Cookie as she smiled brightly at Letizia from a distance. The middle-aged advertising queen, who was currently conversing with Laura in Spanish, was a known fan of Spanish pop and American hip-hop. Her praises for Laura were enough to back up her position in the limelight for the next season. Barely moving her scarlet lips, Cookie continued telling his son, "Why d'you think you're here instead of him to introduce her? Hakeem just had to burst in on the rehearsal this morning and mess with her confidence. We didn't wanna have Laura distracted by his silly love games during her number."

 

Love games, huh? Jamal knocked back his glass and scanned the crowd.

 

The event was a fair and a jam session in one--a feast of fresh talents. At least two or three performances were taking place at the same time every thirty minutes: one in the garden corner, one around the pool, and another inside the house. Only Laura did not have to contend for the guests' attention. Jamal guessed her mother pulled the strings, so her singer could get all the spectators. 

 

The hour stretched on. In between performances, Cookie found herself building more connections for posterity. Laura was socializing with her fellow Latin artists, while Jamal was moving from table to table, receiving (and often reciprocating) flirty once-overs, indulging in amiable chats, and promising future calls.

 

And times like these were when he longed for that distinct company. Michael would have loved to be here. Jamal would have loved Michael to be here.

 

He entered the house through the French doors leading to the second living room. A few guests were seated, their faces in contemplation as a young lady was belting the high notes for her ballad. Negotiation would come soon for her contract, Jamal thought.

 

In the abandoned hallways, he settled by the bayside windows. A waiter on his rounds handed him the beer he had requested. All by himself in the lamp-lit corner, Jamal absently took a swig and stared at the small fountain outside. The Christmas lights arrested his focus. The music and chatters were distant to him now. He sought this short moment of peace as the event was triggering many memories he would rather not ponder over this evening. 

 

He sighed and lifted his dark eyes to stare at nothing again. Then he froze. It was only a glimpse in the gap of the kitchen doors past the corridors in front of him, but the split-second was enough to figure out the profile that passed like a blur.

 

Forgetting the beer on the wooden seat, he stood up and strode several paces forward, careful but in mild daze. He stopped short of the entrance, then leaned against the recess. Jamal waited. Voices drifted, and he closed his eyes once he heard that familiar, boyish laughter. 

 

"Come on, Mikee, you lost," cheered a voice he didn't recognize. "A bet's a bet. You will sing for us."

 

"Told you, I'm not a singing chef!" was the light-hearted protest.

 

"No, pretty boy, you're the singing assistant in training."

 

Nostrils flaring, Jamal scowled. The amusement in the kitchen went on for a while as his mood plummeted. There shouldn't be anything wrong with the staff having fun with one another during their break; their entertainment irritated him, nonetheless.

 

"Fine. Just one time, okay?" he heard Michael say. The rest of the staff inside clapped their hands in faux-support as they snickered. "Hey, no laughing!"

 

"Go on," was the only encouragement Michael got prior to the impromptu a cappella.

 

He cleared his throat, then began to sing, bashfully at first. Jamal stayed where he was, heart hammering against his chest, each beat deafening to his ears. At some point, he caught the lyrics:

 

_"I didn't see how I had it so good, now I wish I could:_

_tell him that I can't sleep; that I need him next to me;_

_tell him that I'm a mess, and it's getting hard to breath;_

_that I must've called a hundred times, but he won't pick up._

_Perdoname. Gotta tell him that--perdoname._

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."_

 

The chorus had ended, the last words echoing to Jamal's ears. Michael's friends applauded him for real this time. Still, they teased him afterwards about switching Prince Royce's pronouns and the serious face he'd made while on the chorus. Jamal inclined forward for a peek. Nobody had noticed him.

 

"Well, a good cover has a personal touch," reasoned Michael, smiling, hips resting against the stainless counter. He looked younger, with his clean-shaven visage and laid-back demeanor. His white uniform suited him, although the sleeves didn't fit his arms. He seemed to have lost some weight.

 

It dawned on Jamal that this was how Michael fared now, without him. Jamal pursed his lips as he stepped away and left the corridor.

 

* * *

 

"Where are you?" Cookie asked through the messenger more than two hours later.

 

Jamal typed in and sent: "Still here. Won't drive back with you."

 

"Be safe. Press adores bunny trouble," was the reply.

 

He visualized her mother's facial reaction. Well, she could easily conclude that her boy was on for a fling tonight. And was he? Nope. Nothing that simple. Fortunately.

 

Finally, some of the service staff rounded the corner next to the back entrance, which also worked as exit for non-visitors. Sitting at the narrow sidestairs, Jamal watched them leave the residence. When Michael walked through the gate, he inhaled sharply. He got up on his feet and was fast descending the steps.

 

"You should've sung out there," casually said Jamal, by way of greeting.

 

Stopping at once, Michael's brown eyes widened up at him. It looked like he no longer heard the person conversing with him by then.

 

"Mikee, Mikee," insisted the tall brunet at his side, raising an eyebrow at Jamal. "You know this guy?"

 

Michael blinked, sucked in a breath, and faced his companion. His features had switched from chummy to distant towards him in an instant. "Yes," he replied, still baffled. "Uhm, I'll stay a bit. You go ahead with them, Harry." 

 

"We're supposed to hang out together at Janet's," Harry said, holding Michael's elbow. Across the road, their friends were looking on, waiting inside the white van that bore the logo of the catering service.

 

"I know," sighed Michael, darting his eyes towards them. "I'm sorry. Gotta pass tonight. I just--"

 

"Leave us alone," Jamal interjected darkly.

 

Harry scoffed. Smugly, he closed the distance between him and Jamal.

 

"Who're you? Oh, I've seen your face on TV before," he said, squinting. "You're one of those bigshot singers here, eh? Here's the news, buddy. Doesn't mean you can boss us around."

 

"Are you his boyfriend?" Jamal shot back in a low voice.

 

Taken aback, Harry pouted, nearly gritting out, "No."

 

"Right. You ain't. So, back off. Don't worry. Michael knows me far too well than he'll ever do with you. He's not going home with a random co-worker." 

 

"You think he's going home with you?" Harry smirked.

 

Smirking back, Jamal shrugged in confidence. His stance made his chest prominent under his tight, white V-neck shirt. "He was living with me for years." 

 

Harry clenched his jaws when the Mexican didn't deny the statement. Michael observed them nervously.

 

"Told ya to leave us alone."

 

"Jamal," said Michael, eyeing him disapprovingly.

 

To hell with manners, Jamal swore internally. Nevertheless, his ex-boyfriend pulled Harry's arm to keep him away from him. Backs turned, their exchange was too soft for Jamal to hear, but he was relieved when the tall brunet followed their staff into the van, sparing Jamal an incensed glance over his shoulder.

 

Hands on his hips, Michael spun to face his ex-lover. "What do you want, Jamal?"

 

He didn't get an answer. Empire's finest artist went straight to his sleek black car and slipped in to the driver seat. The engine didn't start right away on the roadside. Several minutes passed, and Michael remained firm in the middle of the road, his thick brows furrowed. Jamal had to blow the horn to jerk him back to his senses.

 

Grunting, he stomped his feet as he approached the car. Once in, he slammed the passenger door. Promptly, Jamal drove out of the district. His jaw was set, lips a thin line.

 

"Did you know I was attending this jam?" 

 

"Maybe," Michael answered coldly. "I saw Cookie." He averted his gaze as he said so. His mood couldn't be any clearer from the side mirror. Did his mother personally speak with him? The last time Cookie did, the talk had left his lover anxious on the state of their relationship. 

 

"Maybe?" Jamal repeated slowly, then chuckled without humor. After a heavy pause, the artist asked, "Is this how it's gonna be between us? So much for wanting to talk, Michael."

 

"Look, we're both not ready to talk. Right now, we're both ready to fight each other."

 

"Why did you do it?" fired Jamal. The question had been burning for many months and was desperate for this outlet. He enunciated every word: "Tell me what exactly I've done to deserve that."

 

"Nothing."

 

"Then why?"

 

"You won't understand," was the wooden response.

 

Jamal smacked the center of the steering wheel hard. He barked: "The fuck I won't. Over two years, Michael. Years. Why did you--"

 

"I love you!" Michael yelled, large eyes on him, his chest rising and falling with tension. He reiterated, "I love you," in a pained confession, teeth clenched, "in my own foolish way. What I did doesn't even make enough sense to me, either. How will you understand what loving like this can take? And your family--" Michael heaved a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his wavy hair. "I'm very sorry," he intoned. "I mean it. So, so... just drop me at the station."

 

If this went on, they wouldn't be in contact with one another for the next quarter or so again. Tonight proved that their mutual frustration had twisted into something else from their last meeting.

 

Jamal pulled to a stop along the park, a few feet away from the street lamp post. The shadows that were cast painted his face into a different light. Even though his jealousy and anger was washing over him like giant tides, he couldn't deny the strong longing he felt. It had always been there, flowing with the breeze, and now screaming at him within their proximity.

 

His chest was constricted. Blood rushed through his veins. His fingers ached and tingled at the possibility of being able to touch his beloved again, to touch him like the good old times. His dark vision focused at Michael's stiff profile, absorbing all it could from the minutest detail.

 

"It's annoying that I still want you after...everything," admitted Jamal.

 

Lashes fluttering, Michael gazed ahead, his brown eyes clouded. The darkness past the window shield held his interest.

 

"I don't want to always rely on you," said he, more to himself, consumed by his own reflection. Unable to look at him, still, Michael babbled on: "I'm happy that you are where you are--"

 

With that, Jamal swiftly loosened his seatbelt and leaned forward. On the spot, he had decided: no more talks, no more angry confrontations, no more running away. At least, tonight. "--have to be an equal person to you. I'm not sure our feelings-- Nngh--" 

 

Hands tight on his man's face, Jamal conquered his lips, devouring the breath out of him. As he angled deep, he reckoned complicated, messy lovelives ran in Lyon's blood, and if that would be their fate, too, then so be it. No matter the circumstances, his territorial instinct was on. Michael was his alone, and would always be.

 

Overwhelmed anew, Jamal sucked Michael's bottom lip, reveling at the supple flesh between his teeth. He kept his other hand at the back of his man's neck to secure him, afraid that if he let him go for even an inch, the spell would be broken. A day didn't go by that he hadn't thought of his beloved. And Michael's abscence in his daily life only fueled the ravenous hunger he had been nursing for months.

 

It had taken a breathlessly long kiss before Michael melted in to his arms and returned the passion, albeit with unease. That was all the confirmation Jamal needed, though. He pushed Michael against the plush leather seat and moved across the other side with him, completely crowding the front passenger space. His weight pressed against Michael, pinning him on his back. 

 

Without breaking their oral link, Jamal absently reached for the edge of the seat, so that he had the backrest shifted, thus they ended up semi-horizontal. The space was meager; more space it was, still. Enough for liberty to accomplish what they were dying to do.

 

"Mal," exhaled Michael, eyes darting around in concern. Jamal didn't care if they were seen, however.

 

"Ain't matter, baby. It's dark," he said as his tongue slid down Michael's jaw, slurping further down the length of his neck. "All this is you and me."

 

"Hnn-- Jama-- Ah--"

 

The hoarse moan he elicited from him stirred the raging heat trapped in his jeans. Michael's smooth face and neck drove him mad with desire, as he couldn't stop obsessing his mouth on the alluring skin.

 

His rough hands were busy roaming the chest underneath Michael's disheveled shirt, reacquainting himself with the flesh he'd missed. He pinched a nipple, and Michael arched his back, eyes wide into the dark. Timing it with his bite, Jamal pinched the other, making Michael gasp. To drown all hesitation, Jamal expertly ground his hips forward, rubbing their bulging crotches together. Their limited position granted them more friction; not to mention, the thrill of being outdoors added sparks.

 

Writhing and moaning were all Michael could do under Jamal's skillful ministrations. His hands gripped the headrest, a futile attempt for control. His fingers kept on slipping off their clutch. At some point, amid the rough, toothy kisses and impatient dry humping, he had been rid of his belt, shirt, and one of his sneakers. Halting a moment, Jamal had carelessly removed his own. He held him by his sides, lifted him a fraction, and propped up his thighs past Jamal's hips. Face to face, their bodies were fit in a sensual snug, coated by fine sweat, and feverish with lust.

 

As he continously lapped Michael's swollen buds, alternating between nipping and suckling, Jamal grabbed his slender hips and did another round of clothed thrusting. The latter purred, but later on cursed at the painfully erotic sensation as they were still in their jeans. 

 

"Babe," whined Michael, shifting his legs aimlessly.

 

"Hm?" Jamal's mouth was full, cock aching.

 

"Zip hurts," panted Michael. "Please, need to feel you. Now."

 

The way his voice curled and hitched as he pleaded sent shivers down Jamal's spine. Not wasting any second, Jamal complied, freeing their erections from their fly and moist undies. Unceremoniously, he pulled Michael's jeans down to the back of his thighs, revealing his bum and inner thighs. Both men hissed as their rock hard cocks sprang free and bumped against each other. 

 

When Jamal squeezed them together in his palm, Michael let out another kitty cry of bliss. Jamal's body trembled with glee. This excitement was reminiscent of their early months together as a couple, when they could barely stand being apart in and out of bed. And whenever they were close, their libido couldn't be held in check. They were, in just a matter of seconds, all over each other, akin to--if not worse than--horny rabbits.

 

Stroking them both to further hardness, Jamal leaned down and placed two fingers before Michael's lips. Eyes half-lidded, the latter fixed his eyes up at him. Sensual intoxication colored his soft features.

 

"We don't have lube," whispered Jamal.

 

A small nod, and Michael stretched his tongue out and, languidly, licked at the presented digits. Jamal grunted at the wet caress, canted his hips upward, making his member slide against the other in his hand. Push and pull, he continued to move as he watched him in awe. Michael rolled his eyes as he moaned around his digits. Willingly, Michael's mouth took in Jamal's fingers, his slick tongue sweeping around them, doing what it would if it was a cock past his lips instead. Drool leaked from the corner of his lips, then trickled down his chin and neck. The light raying across from the post caught his obscene image. Jamal hissed.

 

Dipping in for a string of smothering kisses, he withdrew his fingers and reached down between them, instinctively searching for Michael's entrance. Eyes closed, face distorted in arousal, the man hummed as his passage was breached by insistent fingers. His lover invaded him knowingly, stretching and massaging his inner muscles.

 

His hands were both occupied in delight: one of them flaming his man's deep channel, the other squeezing around his dripping member, fingers also intermittently fondling with his balls. Jamal was certain that if he hadn't jerked off at home before he went to the jam, he would've already bursted the minute he had gotten his hands on Michael. A surprise it was that the car hadn't combusted yet. It certainly felt like steaming from the heat which emanated from either of them. 

 

Every time Jamal hit his sweet spot, his hips involuntarily lifted off the seat they were cramped in. The way Michael sobbed whenever his weakness was assaulted again and again and again struck something deep in Jamal. It was a sensation beyond need; probably, it was close to security in knowing his beloved man trusted him to be handled intimately again.

 

And then Michael huffed, stiffened with legs trapping his lover's hips, then squirmed restlessly until he spilled all over his chest. His wail as he did so reverberated in the car. Somehow it reminded Jamal of a wailing cat. Forget about closed windows, the obscenity of it all would still echo outside. Inwardly, Jamal celebrated at the fact that he was the person to bring so much pleasure to Michael, the person to render him so helpless, the only one to love him in this manner.

 

"You're so beautiful," rasped Jamal, mouth latched still on to his earlobe. "Near or far, you belong to me."

 

Each touch had his nerves ablaze. With Michael still high from orgasm, and sweetly poised to receive him, Jamal slightly inclined backward and stroked his cock in rough motions. A handful of times he spat on it, slicked the length with his fingers, as he admired Michael's bewitching self.

 

For all the good and the bad, Michael meant the world to him. How sinfully unaware his beloved was that even the simplest flicker of incidental gleam to his brown eyes, the mere curl of his lashes, the sweat trickling the dips and curves of his chest, the unintended pout of his lips--all of him--put Jamal's senses on electric overload. Of all the men Jamal had been with, he'd never been this crazy, this head over heels.

 

After a few minutes more of admiring this treasure within reach, Jamal realized he couldn't fight another second from succumbing to the fierce drive to completely own Michael. Forget delays; he went straight for the dive. He yanked him downwards, and fully claimed him as a king lion would with his mate.

 

"Aahhh--haa--aa--" groaned Michael in a voice that tickled Jamal's nerves. Goosebumps crawled, chilling him from head to toe as he sheathed himself inside his beloved. Tightness welcomed him with fervor. The silken, hot flesh around him flamed his core. Pounding was inevitable, and so was the reciprocal bouncing.

 

Incoherent noises ricocheted within the walls of the car, and whispered outwards. The car shook and squeaked, a testament to the ardency of their union. Jamal relished in the prolonged, lascivious whimpers he educed from his man. Every ram in and slide out was sending fireworks behind his eyelids. No doubt his hands and teeth would leave marks on Michael's skin. Rocking him senseless, he had to breathe through his parted lips; otherwise, he might forget to respire from the current fixation of his entire body.

 

"Ah-- Yesss, baby-- Oh-ohh-- Mal-- More-- Hnn-- Oh my-- Aaahhh--" chanted Michael, head lolled back, eyes lost in delight. He sang the intense period away, crying mindlessly at the pleasure seizing him. 

 

Nigh his limit, Jamal bent down as the little space could possibly allow, managed to prop Michael's legs over his forearms, and plunged into him as though a beast that had gone without release during a mating season. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Each deep and piercing. He ground his teeth and, with a savage mewl that locked in his throat, gushed deep inside Michael. All he could see beneath his eyelids was red gratification. He felt Michael tremble as the latter's face was contoured into the height of sensual passion, his mouth ajar, and back faintly bowed against the inclined leather backrest.

 

Ears buzzing from the rush, vision blotched by spots, Jamal straightened up. His head bumped softly against the roof. Both men heavily panted as they regarded each other.

 

"I miss you so much, _mi principe_ ," confessed Jamal, getting a tired yet genial smile in reply.

 

"I miss you so much, too," was the chest-wrenching murmur.

 

Heart twisted, Jamal couldn't breathe. His brows furrowed, lower lip aquiver. "I still love you, Michael."

 

"Hm," nodded Michael, the corners of his eyes glistening. "I love you, too."

 

The moment passed in silence. Once his pulse steadied, Jamal pulled out of him and zipped himself up as best he could. Now that the sex was over, and the mutual surge of emotions and need currently quenched, he realized the discomfort with their awkward position. Gingerly, he lifted Michael's legs and assisted him with his jeans and ripped shirt. With gentle hands, he freshened him up with tissues from the glove compartment. His car was reeking of sweat and sex.

 

"I think we need some air, babe."

 

"Yeah," absently responded Michael, eyes heavy. He seemed ready to doze off any minute.

 

Jamal pushed the door open and stepped down to let Michael stretch out his limbs. Watching him, he leaned his arms on the roof after he donned his shirt. The sweep of cold air sent another round of shivers. They were alone along the park. The only notable sounds so far was the mild traffic from the busy streets many feet away.

 

"Do you forgive me?" whispered Michael as he looked up at him.

 

Two pairs of dark eyes studied each other warily.

 

"I was really hurt," said Jamal slowly. "My love didn't change, but..." He sighed, his voice laced with anguish. Honesty was warranted. "I don't know if I can trust you again. And all these nasty thoughts dance in my head when I'm down. Whenever someone else gets close, I may doubt you. And I don't want that poison... for both of us."

 

Tears welled up in Michael's eyes, wetting the charming lashes. "I understand," he rasped. "It's natural to feel this way. I've promised myself never to betray you again. Making you believe this won't be easy."

 

"So, there hasn't been--"

 

"No, no." Michael shook his head miserably. "That night was a mistake I'd regret forever. I won't dare be with others. I'm not moving on. Honestly, I can't bring myself to do it at all. I want only you, Jamal."

 

"I'm glad to know that."

 

Michael fidgeted as he swallowed. "These past few months, I've been thinking about what went wrong with me. What if I'm not good enough for you?"

 

Jamal frowned. His heart sank. He feared where this conversation was going.

 

"I wish to deserve you, baby," said his beloved. "And I need a lot of time and work to do that. Catching up with you is going to be tough, but I hope you could let me. Would it be too much to ask this from you?"

 

They had never talked about this stuff before. Sure Michael was not a Hollywood celebrity or a music genius or a Michelin star chef yet; however, there hadn't been an instance in the years they were together that Jamal had to consider his status. None of it mattered to him. He fell in love with the man, not with anything else he brought with him.

 

Then Cookie's words seeped in. Was it really not going to be simple for a man to be with Jamal Lyon? That even if he himself didn't demand it from Michael, his circumstances would? Was this the proverbial price of dealing with fame?

 

He observed Michael, who was becoming tense the longer he stayed silent. Jamal opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Coming up with right response was quite difficult. Perhaps he wasn't contemplating things from Michael's perspective. He took a deep breath.

 

"I will never deny you anything that's good for you," he decided. "But you've to be honest to me. Are we--" Jamal gestured about, eyes on his man "--gonna be like this?" There was concern in his tone.

 

"I'd like to see you again, if it's okay." Michael bit his cheek before he added: "And spend time with you when we're both free and... all right with things."

 

Nodding repeatedly, Jamal chewed his bottom lip. "Okay," he exhaled, feeling some weight off his shoulders. "Okay. Good. It's cool. Like this."

 

"Thank you," mouthed Michael.

 

Silence stretched on between them. The strain still existed, but it was not as severely impressive as before.

 

The evening wind around the park was growing too cold. Fighting a shudder, Jamal walked across to get in to the driver seat. After a while more, he started the engine then stared expectantly at Michael. His man flashed him another shy smile that sent butterflies in his stomach.

 

"Are you hungry?"

 

"Oh, yes." Jamal grinned. "I burned so much energy in the last hour. You've worn me out. Though I guess I did the same to you."

 

"Tonight if you don't have anything going on," said Michael in a small voice. "Do you mind if I cook for you at my place?"

 

"No," was the immediate answer. "I don't mind at all tonight."


End file.
